


The Back of an Uber

by WishingOnWhishaw



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conflict Resolution, Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Grinding, Guilt, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingOnWhishaw/pseuds/WishingOnWhishaw
Summary: Ben abandons Mike and James on a night out in the hope they can talk through their issues and become closer because of it, but maybe they get a little too close for James to handle. He learns the hard way that being drunk is definitelynotthe best time to realise that you maybe have a crush on your friend.Or: the story behind Janice's warning that James will take you out for sushi, treat you to cocktails, act like a true romantic, and then fail to return your calls.
Relationships: James Currie/Mike Huttlestone
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what's this? Not me writing fic for a new fandom when I have several essays I could be working on... 
> 
> I feel like such an old person rocking up and posting this, nobody uses tumblr any more apparently? Meaning I've written this in isolation (haha), but it seems there's a fandom alive here. So if you're reading this, hello! Hopefully it isn't too out of character, I'm pretty new to watching these guys but I'm obsessed with them, I just had to do this. Also I'm so sorry, I really don't know how it got so long, but I saw the video, I had an idea, and I goddamn ran with it. Also, I feel like this sort of thing should already exist but I couldn't find anything? Who knows! I had fun with it, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, [here's a link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXCcvPorJ9Q) to the video this whole thing is based off, if you somehow have never seen it. It has killed me several times. I hate these men.

He can joke about it now, in retrospect. They all can. Mike can shrug it off and add a snide comment when he’s cutting a video where James looks particularly cute, because it’s all been dealt with. An old wound that’s healed over, one of those things that seems like the end of the world as it happens but that turns into a funny anecdote after time, aged like wine, no longer bitter. And sure, he’ll use it to play the sympathy card sometimes, but James has stopped getting genuinely worried about the ordeal, and its not getting between the two of them anymore, so it’s all fine.  
  
In fairness, it was never an official date. The five of them had all gone to this sushi place in Covent Garden because Ben had been insisting on it for weeks, rambling about scallops with a miso aïoli and insisting everyone should try them. And, to Ben’s credit, the food was really good, a sort of Japanese style fused with local, seasonal produce and it was fresh and exciting, a nice evening out with friends. Over dinner, James had suggested finding someplace nearby, going for drinks after the meal, and everyone had hummed agreements around their wasabi salmon. By the time the bill was settled, however, Jamie and Barry declared they had to head home, which left Ben, James and Mike stepping out into the night together, tossing ideas for bars out into the cool air.  
  
“No, it’s a Friday night, the Lamb and Flag will be _so_ busy,” James insists, shooting down another of Mike’s suggestions.  
  
“Punch and Judy then?” Mike offers, and it takes all of James’s restraint not to roll his eyes and call him a tourist.  
  
“That’s going to be even worse! It’s literally part of the market.”  
  
“Actually,” Ben hums. “I went there a couple of weeks ago on the weekend, and it wasn’t too bad upstairs.”  
  
“See!” Exclaims Mike, but a James’s brows pinch together, dubious.  
  
“Why did you come into central for a drink and end up there?” He asks, bewildered. It wasn’t with anyone from work; this was the first time they’d all really been out together since New Year’s. Ben suddenly feels his cheeks grow warm in the cold night at the question, realising he’s put his foot in it and having a moment of internal panic where he tries to think of an excuse. He’s too slow, however, and his imitation of a deer in the headlights gives him away, has Mike grinning.  
  
“Ebbers went on a date!” He teases, bumping his shoulder with Ben who groans loudly.  
  
“It wasn’t a date,” he tries to insist, but Mike’s not listening, is too excited by this new piece of information.  
  
“What was he like? Are you still talking? Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
“Maybe because you react like this,” James mutters snidely, and Ben shoots him a quick and grateful smile at the backup. But there’s something about the tone of James’s voice that rubs Mike the wrong way, has him stopping with a frown. The floor beneath their feet has turned to cobblestone already and the iron frames and glass roof of the market are within sight. People are milling around them, coming to and from the restaurants, enjoying the start of their weekend. Ben stops alongside Mike, giving him a questioning look. Mike ignores it in favour of staring at James.  
  
“I’m just interested in Ben’s life, that’s all,” Mike defends. James turns on his heel, just realising they were no longer walking with him.  
  
“That doesn’t mean you have to treat him like a child,” James counters, crossing his arms over his chest. He kicks himself as soon as the words have left his mouth, realising how confrontational he sounds. And why? He’s not even that protective of Ben. Of course, he does get annoyed when the others baby him sometimes—he’s a 30-year-old man after all. Ben himself, realising this situation could blow up any second, looks between them almost desperately.  
  
“Honestly,” Ben says, addressing James. “It’s okay. Thank you, obviously, I appreciate you sticking up for me, but it’s fine.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s Ben’s business, not yours,” Mike adds, still offended that James had tried to chastise him.  
  
“Mike,” Ben sighs, turning to him now with a look that says ‘ _you’re not helping_ ’. “Let’s just leave it there, yeah?” Mike shrugs but starts walking in the direction of the pub again, catching up to James in a few strides.  
  
“Sure. Just don’t see what the big deal is, that’s all.”  
  
“You’re just such a teenager sometimes, Mike,” groans James, and it makes Ben want to pull his hair out. How foolish of him to think they’d move on just like that.  
  
“The date was awful,” Ben offers, hoping that gossip will distract them, but to no avail. Mike’s bruised again from James’s words and not about to let it go. They’ve stopped walking again.  
  
“A _teenager_?” Mike echoes. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”  
  
“What I said. Grilling Ben about things like you can’t wait to go spread the news around the playground.”  
  
“He’s my friend!” Mike exclaims defensively. “I’m allowed to be excited about my friend’s dating life!” A deep, bitter, part of James scoffs at that, stabbing his chest with self-pity.  
  
 _You never ask me about my dating life. I thought we were friends._  
  
He stings himself with the words, and the thought of any response to Mike’s excuse drains him. He doesn’t say anything, though, buries it back down with all his other little jealous thoughts and oh, no, is that what this is? Surely not. He’s not jealous of Mike and Ben, how ridiculous would that be?  
  
“Whatever,” James sighs, gives a small shake of his head. “Sorry I said anything.”  
  
“Yeah,” Mike agrees, sounding vindicated, still pent up and in conflict mode. “It was out of order, mate.” Ben leans his head back, looks up at the dark sky, as if some deity could bless him with the strength he’s going to need to deal with this situation. He takes a deep breath, readies himself to play peacemaker, but when he looks back at James, the man seems deflated.  
  
“Yeah, alright,” James retorts. “I said sorry. Let me buy you a drink and let’s get over it.” Mike blinks back at him wide-eyed, the offer catching him off guard. Ben looks between them again, slightly confused. James had hardly fucked up that bad, but clearly there was some guilt there on his part. The whole situation felt tense and heavy, and Ben got the distinct sense he was missing something. James, stood with his back stiff, fists balled by his sides, and that fiery look of determination in his eyes as he stared Mike down with his chin raised. And all this because he didn’t want Mike prying into Ben’s relationships? The whole thing felt immensely over exaggerated. A plan began to hatch in Ben’s mind.  
  
“Okay,” Mike nods, the adrenaline still showing through the edge in his voice. “Fine, yeah. Buy me a drink.”  
  
“And we’ll put it behind us,” James says definitively, Mike giving a single nod in agreement. They fall into step again, back on their mission toward the pub.  
  
“I, uh— I think I’m gonna head home, actually,” Ben confesses, sheepish. He hopes the agreed offer of a pint in exchange for forgiveness will keep the other two out, that neither of them will back out of this little deal they’ve made. Hopes they can sit down and talk out whatever the hell it was that just happened between them. James looks back at him with the briefest flash of panic on his face.  
  
“You’re not offended, right?” Mike asks. “Because you know I’m just being curious.”  
  
“No, no, of course not,” Ben assures quickly. “You’re okay. You’re both okay. I just, there’s a farmer’s market I want to go to tomorrow, and I really want to try and be there early.”  
  
“Oh, okay,” hums Mike, and Ben breathes a sigh of relief, proud of himself for thinking up such a believable lie on the spot. James narrows his eyes, briefly considers asking Ben which market he’s going to, but decides against it. He’s had enough confrontation for one night already, thank you, the last thing he needs is to piss Ben off too just because he’s overly sceptical.  
  
“Let me know if you get anything exciting,” James settles on saying instead.  
  
“Will do,” Ben confirms with a warm smile. “Enjoy your night! I’ll see you both Monday?” The two nod, saying their goodbyes and waving to Ben as he walks on, past the market and back to the street, heading for the tube station.  
  
“So,” breathes James, feeling slightly awkward now it’s just the two of them. “Punch and Judy?”  
  
“On Ben’s recommendation,” Mike hums, starting to walk yet again, leading them toward the market hall. “If it’s really busy, we don’t have to stay long. There’s plenty of other pubs around here.” Quietly, James breathes a soft sigh of relief at the indirect confirmation that Mike isn’t that annoyed at him, that things aren’t going to be weird between them now. If he’s implying that they can stay out for a while, they must be okay, right?  
  
They reach the pub, climbing the old narrow staircase that takes them up above the restaurant to the bar area. James had been worried at the sight of the full tables downstairs, but to give Ben his credit, it wasn’t nearly as busy up here. Mike spies a small table empty across the room and heads straight over, James walking behind and taking his scarf from around his neck. They claim the table and both shed their coats, Mike sitting on the benched seat against the wall and James taking a stool opposite so they’re facing one another. There’s a small, folded drinks menu made of card on the table, which James hands straight to Mike.  
  
“I’m good, I’m just having a pint,” Mike says, sliding the menu back. James shakes his head, pushes it back again.  
  
“This is mean to be my apology drink, I can’t just buy you a Camden Hells and be done with it,” he insists. “Pick something exciting.” Mike rolls his eyes dramatically, but a grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he picks the menu up once more.  
  
“You don’t _have_ to buy me a fancy drink for this, y’know?” He says as he studies the wine list. James rests his elbows on the table, chin propped on his hands, and smiles.  
  
“I feel like a dick for snapping at you,” he confesses. “So, I want to make up for that.”  
  
“Oh, so this is for your benefit, not mine?” Mike teases. James is so relieved that Mike’s back to joking with him, that all the aggression is gone. He hates conflict, especially with people he’s close to.  
  
“I wouldn’t say that. I think a free drink is a pretty nice benefit for you? It’s a win-win.”  
  
“Sure,” replies Mike, absently. Then, upon reading something, his eyes light up and he looks to James with a mischievous grin. “How do you feel about cocktails?”  
  
“Cocktails are fancier than beer,” James notes with a nod of approval.  
  
“They do espresso martinis!” This time, James can’t contain the eye-roll.  
  
“You make espresso martinis every chance you get!” He laughs.  
  
“Yeah, but I don’t ever get them out, do I?”  
  
“No, because they probably won’t be as good,” James quips, and then hastens to add, “But, it’s your choice. You can get what you like.”  
  
“No, you’re right. Nobody makes a better espresso martini than me,” Mike concurs with a put-on sense of solemnity. “Thoughts on pornstar martinis, then?” James gives a small nod and a non-committal shrug.  
  
“They’re nice.”  
  
“Okay! Two pornstar martinis then.”  
  
“Two?” James exclaims.  
  
“Well I’m not sitting here drinking cocktails on my own,” Mike explains. “If you really want my forgiveness, you’ll have to drink them with me.” He gives James his best pout and puppy dog eyes and everything. James hates him so much, hates Mike and his cute face. None of this is fair.  
  
“Okay, fine. A win-win,” James repeats, standing and walking the short distance to the bar. It’s quiet enough that he’s served almost straight away, and it isn’t long before he’s back at the table, placing down the drinks. He carefully slides the martini glass closer to Mike, who gives a wolf whistle at the sight of the drink, a beautiful orange sunrise colour and garnished with a slice of lime on the rim of the glass.  
  
“This was definitely a good call.”  
  
“You haven’t even tried it yet,” James chuckles, pulling his own glass closer to himself. Mike makes a point to lift his drink, as if in toast, and then takes a big sip, humming and nodding in approval.  
  
“There,” he says. “This was a good call. Now, drink up.”  
  
Before they know it, they’re several cocktails in, chatting about the upcoming work week and Mike’s grinning as he watches James talk animatedly about these recipes he’s been developing. He feels all warm and happy, can’t remember the last time the two of them hung out together like this, only the two of them, and Mike sort of loves it. He loves having James’s attention, loves making him laugh as he’s drinking, loves getting to sit and just watch James get enthused about some new flavour pairing he’s experimenting with. However, there’s now a large group of men occupying the table beside them, dressed in shirts, talking and laughing boisterously, and James keeps tensing occasionally at random points in the conversation. A sudden cacophony of laughs makes James pauses mid-sentence, eyes darting across to the men and narrowing at the derogatory joke he’d overheard. He downs the rest of his drink.  
  
“I think I’m going to get some fresh air,” he proclaims as he rises to his feet. Mike, oblivious to the source of James’s sudden sour mood, frowns in confusion. He replays the last few minutes of their conversation in his mind, wondering what he could’ve done to set his friend off this time.  
  
“What?” Mike asks. “Okay? I… Do you want me to wait here?”  
  
“You can come if you want?” James offers, picking up his coat. “I’m just gonna get another drink first.” Mike nods, looking at his own glass, which is still mostly full. He decides he’ll wait inside, gets his own coat in hand and shuffles around the bench so he’s ready to go. He watches James get his drinks, sees him knock back a finger of whisky and then pick up two cocktails. When he turns, Mike stands, meeting his eyes with a brief smile. James nods straight ahead, at the doors leading outside, and Mike follows him, slightly confused but still compliant.  
  
They emerge onto the roof terrace faced with Saint Paul’s church, looking down at the cobbled square they had stood on earlier. A cold wind blows around them, and Mike sets his drink on a table to shrug his coat on quickly. They have the terrace for themselves, save for a group of three people at the other end, smoking and laughing merrily. The other patrons of the bar must have been sensible; none of them braving the outdoor seating on a crisp February evening. James heads straight for the railing, placing his two drinks down atop the small wooden bar and sliding on to the bench stool, looking out into the night and the city. Mike tentatively comes up, settles on the bench beside him. He doesn’t meet James’s eye when he speaks.  
  
“What’s up?” Mike asks, a slight shiver going through him.  
  
“Nothing.” James shakes his head. “Just. Those guys next to us.”  
  
“What were they doing?”  
  
“Just being dickheads,” replies James, picking up one of the cocktails. “Saying gross stuff, being offensive. It was winding me up.”  
  
“Oh,” Mike breathes. “I hadn’t noticed.” He doesn’t say that he finds it hard to get distracted when James is passionately talking about food. That he just gets wrapped up in the excitement, that talking to an enthused James is like putting blinkers on for him. The silence stretches on a little, and when James says nothing, Mike starts to feel an awkwardness creeping upon them. “I thought I might have upset you again,” he admits, laughing nervously.  
  
James takes a long drink and then sighs heavily, closes his eyes.  
  
“I really am sorry about that, Mike.”  
  
“It’s fine. Just threw me a little. It came out of nowhere, y’know?” Humming to himself, James thinks as carefully as he can about what he wants to say on the matter. After a few moments pause, he turns away from Mike, and then back again, a plastic cup filled with a pink-peach substance in his outstretched hand.  
  
“Here.”  
  
“I don’t need you to keep buying me drinks mate, honestly, it’s fine,” Mike tries to insist. James rolls his eyes.  
  
“Just take it, I bought two. It’s rhubarb vodka and prosecco. Try?”  
  
“Alright,” Mike agrees, accepting the drink. He makes a strange face when he tries it, immediately hit with tart rhubarb and alcohol, but as the flavours develop, his features morph into a surprised expression. “Wow.”  
  
“It’s nice, right?”  
  
“It’s weird. You get like, the sharp rhubarb and dry prosecco, and then some sweetness?” James practically beams at Mike’s reaction, looking so much like a proud parent that Mike realises giving his opinion was definitely a good idea.  
  
“Yeah! I think there’s lemonade in here too. It works,” James nods, drinking some more. Mike’s starting to worry, however, about the speed with which James is getting through these drinks. And the whiskey shots? What’s up with that?  
  
“It does,” hums Mike. “But, if you’re knocking them back to drown the guilt or whatever, there’s really no need. I’m not that upset.” Oh, and James hates him. Just when he thought he’d gotten away with changing the subject, Mike has to bring it up again. Why? James doesn’t want to keep thinking on it, doesn’t want to dwell on those emotions because he’s not sure where they came from, and the last thing he wants is to tug on some stray thread and unravel a whole complicated mess of feelings he has tucked away.  
  
“I don’t think it’s guilt,” James muses. He’s still staring off, watching people on the streets below, but he can see Mike in his periphery. Knows he turns towards him, feels Mike’s gaze on his face. He can’t see the furrowed brows, or the curious tilt of a head as Mike asks:  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean? What is it then?”  
  
“I don’t know,” groans James. He puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know what it is, I’m sorry Mike. I know you said you’ve forgiven me, and I just want to forget it and move on, but I still feel so weird about the whole thing.”  
  
“Weird how?” Mike presses. A deep part of James mutters the word _jealous_ , and it makes him shake his head, not wanting it to be true, and certainly not wanting to tell Mike even if it was. What does he have to be jealous of? Jealous because Mike doesn’t grill him on his dating experiences, because James wants to feel like Mike cares about him? Jealous of how Ben and Mike seemed so in-tune with each other in that moment, and maybe James wants that with him? No. They’re all ridiculous thoughts, and James would never voice them to anyone.  
  
“Just stupid, I guess,” he settles on instead.  
  
“Oh, I mean, that’s normal. I’ve totally snapped at people before and then looked back and been like, that was so pointless. Why was I so mad? But usually it’s because there’s other shit going on, y’know?”  
  
“That’s… actually really insightful,” James hums. He braves looking at Mike’s face again, and is glad he did so, as the other man is grinning at him, a wide, gleeful smile.  
  
“You’re welcome,” laughs Mike. “Normally I’d charge for these one-on-one self-help sessions, but you can get a mates rate discount of one hundred percent for your first time.” James rolls his eyes and bumps their shoulders together, but Mike hears the laugh under his breath, sees the way James tries to hide his smile in the rim of his glass as he returns to his cocktail.  
  
“You’re assuming I’m going to need a second time then?”  
  
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Mike says cheekily. “Think this might need to be a weekly thing, especially with the way you’re going.”  
  
“What way am I going?”  
  
“Not opening up fully,” Mike says brazenly. And now it’s his turn to take a big long drink of this rhubarb bubbly thing, feeling like he needs the liquid courage if he’s going to make them have this conversation.  
  
“Thought you said this was _self-_ help, not therapy,” James challenges. Mike snaps his fingers and then points at his friend.  
  
“Ah! So not denying that you’re holding back on me then!” James groans, drains the last of his drink from his cup.  
  
“Shall we get going?” He asks suddenly.  
  
“Oh no,” Mike shakes his head. He keeps his tone playful, doesn’t want James to think he’s genuinely annoyed. “No, you are literally running away from the conversation now.”  
  
“I feel like a walk,” says James, ignoring Mike’s accusation and getting to his feet.  
  
“Or walking away from the conversation at least.”  
  
“The conversation doesn’t have to end,” James shrugs, nudging Mike’s arm again. “Drink up, let’s walk and talk.” Mike’s curiosity gets the best of him, so many questions going around his mind, so many things about the way James has been acting this evening which are throwing him. He doesn’t understand but he wants to, deeply, and here’s James offering to go on a walk at this time of night after who knows how much drink? So maybe Mike spies an opportunity. And it’s not taking advantage if he’s drunk too, and James is offering, right? Surely not. Mike knocks the drink back and grimaces, reminded of why you should sip wine. He rises to his feet and resists the impulse to loop his arm through James’s. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought, and a walk will do him good too.  
  
They fall into step when they’re outside, but Mike lets James lead the way, pauses at corners and trusts James has a plan. Despite the promise James had made, there’s no talking between them for a while, but Mike can’t bring himself to press. The night feels like it gets colder as they move through the mostly empty streets, just the occasional sound of laughter and music drifting to them out of the bars and restaurants they pass by. Unconsciously, they gravitate towards each other, their arms bumping on occasion. Mike’s vaguely aware that they’re heading south, recognises they’re on the Strand when they pass the Savoy, and his heart does a funny thing when James turns right onto the road to Waterloo bridge.  
  
It feels too close to romantic, the two of them walking so close together, pausing on the bridge to look out at the lights of the city reflected in the dark water of the Thames. There’s a hum of traffic around them as they pause, admiring the view of the Eye, snapping a few photos and listening to the bustle emanating from the people on the Southbank below them. It almost makes Mike want to lean his head onto James’s shoulder, in spite of all the weird emotions tonight, it almost makes James want to explain himself. But the view is too beautiful to be spoiled by something as ugly as jealousy. So instead James starts walking again, faster paced, determined.  
  
“Come on,” he calls back to Mike, gesturing with his head. “Let’s walk along the river?” Mike’s breath catches for a moment and his chest goes a little weird. He has to remind himself that they’re just friends, no matter how much this feels like a date to him at the moment. They’re two friends, going for a night-time walk. Nothing more. He knows this, but Mike still nods his head a little too eagerly.  
  
“It looks nice here in the dark,” Mike says quietly as they walk along the promenade. James just hums an agreement, his mind elsewhere. The combination of fresh air and alcohol is catching up on him, making his whole body feel this moving warmth across the skin, has his mind running and the lights shining brighter on the water.  
  
“You were right,” James declares suddenly. “I wasn’t opening up to you earlier. I think… I think I’m scared.” Mike frowns, leans into the other man so his shoulder and James’s brush.  
  
“You don’t have to be scared of talking to me. I know I can be a bit of a wind up at times, but I’m still your friend at the end of the day. You can trust me.”  
  
“I’m worried I trust you too much,” replies James in one quick rush. And that’s it, he’s doing it, no turning back now. Mike’s confusion continues to mount.  
  
“How can you trust someone too much?”  
  
“When I’m with you,” James sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I worry about getting too relaxed. That I might say something and then regret it.” Mike feels like there’s a compliment in there somewhere, wrapped up in all of James’s insecurities. Beneath all his issues, there’s a confession that James feels comfortable around Mike, but then what would he have to regret?  
  
“Are there things you don’t want me to know?” The question makes James laugh humourlessly. Their pace slows.  
  
“Doesn’t everyone have that? Some secret they want to keep to themselves?”  
  
“I guess? But I doubt there’s much you could tell me which would make me hate you or anything.”  
  
“You can’t know that,” James protests.  
  
“Okay, try me,” challenges Mike, but James just shakes his head. He can’t say anything more, can’t attempt to explain his actions without hinting at emotions he doesn’t even want to acknowledge. He can’t admit anything to Mike without starting off a line of enquiry James doesn’t like the conclusion to. The stakes are too high, and James would rather bottle things up and be sure Mike isn’t going to be uncomfortable around him than take a shot that’s bound to miss.  
  
“This is silly,” says James, trying to dismiss the issues with a laugh. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”  
  
“Hey,” Mike says firmly, steps in front of James and blocks his path. They face one another, James trying to avoid Mike’s eyes, but Mike chases him, ducks his head and catches his gaze, holds it. “It’s not silly. Obviously there’s something playing on your mind, and it’s been bugging you all night.”  
  
“There’s not, it’s fine. I’m fine.”  
  
“No offense,” Mike says softly. “But you’re clearly not mate. You’ve been a bit funny since we left the restaurant, which sort of makes me feel like I’m the problem. So, whatever it is, I’d rather you just tell me, and we can deal with it now.”  
  
“I don’t have a problem with you, Mike, honestly,” James insists. His tone is open, honest, can be because he knows he’s telling the truth, that in fact the issue is quite the opposite. He’s so worried he likes Mike too much, that he can’t restrain himself the way he needs to. “It’s… It’s not you, it’s me.”  
  
“Okay? But it’s a you thing that you’re too scared to talk to me about?”  
  
“I don’t want anything to change,” James admits in a voice which makes him seem vulnerable, almost makes Mike feel bad about pressing him. Almost. It feels wrong seeing James like this, seeing him uncertain. He’s usually so sure of himself, full of a confident smugness that would be annoying if it were coming from anyone else. And sure, he gets stressed sometimes, doubts himself sometimes, but Mike’s never seen him looking this lost before. Instinct says to back off, that James looks too fragile, but he’s so close to cracking this and Mike’s sure it'll be for the benefit of the both of them if James would just learn to trust someone enough to be emotionally available with them.  
  
In an attempt at comfort, Mike’s hands take hold of hold James’s elbows, causing his head to shoot up, searching Mike’s face. Mike sees confusion staring back at him, but the panic in James’s wide eyes just makes him hold a little tighter.  
  
“Nothing has to change. I promise.”  
  
It’s all so much, it makes James feel unsteady. The care and concern exuding from Mike has James standing on legs which feel too weak, has his chest tightening around a racing heart. He feels like he might collapse, like Mike is the only thing keeping him up right now. His head swims from the drink and the confusion and maybe a little bit of self-pity. James lets his arms drop and then slowly pulls them in on himself, palms up, until they brush Mike’s. James’s hands are clammy, covered in a nervous sweat and he holds his breath as he twists a wrist clockwise and then he's sliding his fingers up, slotting them between Mike’s. Filled with this rush of adrenaline but the remorse is lurking, he starts to regret every decision that led him here because Mike’s not reacting, just staring him down and James can’t take it, wants to pull back, to run away and drink enough to make him forget this whole night.  
  
But then Mike’s fingers are curling, holding James’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. Mike isn’t sure what it means, but it’s good, gives him this heady rush of power as the press of his fingers wrings the tension, leeches it from James’s frame.  
  
“This is okay?” James asks, his eyes flitting nervously over Mike’s features.  
  
“It’s okay. It’s nice, this is nice. You’re nervous?”  
  
“I was scared—I… I think I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”  
  
“You think?” Mike teases.  
  
“Maybe I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it.”  
  
“You’re admitting it now.”  
  
“I am,” James nods. “To you and myself.”  
  
“And the world hasn’t fallen apart, see? I told you, you don’t need to be scared, James.”  
  
“My world feels kind of sideways, though,” James laughs, and he realises how drunk he is—on the alcohol and this feeling—because what the hell is he saying? Luckily, Mike finds it endearing, grins and squeezes James’s hand once more.  
  
“Maybe I can put you upright again?” It’s cheesy as hell but Mike doesn’t care, just pulls on James’s hand, trying his best to lighten the atmosphere even a little. Instead, the pull catches James off guard, has him stumbling forward into Mike’s personal space. He just manages to catch himself before they crash into one another, leaving a mere few inches between them. James parts his lips, heart somehow hammering even harder and oh, Mike’s eyes look even prettier from this close up. James is panicking, breathing shallowly through his mouth, trying to get air to lungs which feel starved. Mike thinks he could get used to seeing this, this flushed and almost wild look on James’s face. Makes him impossibly more attractive.  
  
“I think that’s made it worse,” James mumbles when his ability to breathe normally has returned. The spell breaks and they both seem to snap out of it at the same time, each taking a simultaneous step backwards, restoring the distance between them. James is still a little shaken; doesn’t realise he’s still clutching Mike’s hand. Mike doesn’t mind at all.  
  
“You okay?” Mike asks.  
  
“I’ll be fine. You?”  
  
“I’m alright. Good.”  
  
“Okay,” James breathes a sigh of relief, worried he’d made things incredibly awkward and glad to know that’s not the case. “Shall we walk some more?”  
  
“I’d like that, yeah,” Mike agrees, because of course he does, he can’t deny James anything, especially not now, not tonight. He isn’t sure what has just happened between them, has more questions now than he did before and no answers for any of them, but Mike isn’t sure he cares. James is still holding his hands, leading him East along the river, and it feels so right. Mike starts to swing their arms between them as they walk and it draws this soft laugh of disbelief from James, the sound tinged with a fondness that sets butterflies loose in Mike’s stomach. He feels young and free, this whole thing new and undefined but so _exciting_. The warmth of sweaty palms in the cold night, the dancing of lights on the Thames, flickering unpredictably like their heartbeats.  
  
They continue on in silence, both deep in thought and moving on autopilot until they come to a small pier sticking out into the water, and James tugs on Mike’s hand, leading them down onto it. They walk side-by-side over the wooden slats to the end of the pier, leaning forward on the railings and pressing close to one another. They’re touching from their shoulders down to their hips, hands still clutched between them and James isn’t sure this is real. It feels like a dream, like something too good to be true, something he didn’t know he’d been longing for but was always lingering as a subconscious desire. Both of them are quiet, looking at the skyscrapers and bridges, the landmarks lit up in the distance, but not each other.  
  
“Sometimes I forget how nice London can be,” Mike murmurs. “Like, I forget we live _here_. With all of this.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” hums James. “I think it’s easy to lose sight of it. We don’t fully appreciate the things that are always right in front of us.” The statement is deeper than it needs to be, but James still feels drunk, and he’s dizzy from all the contact, can’t bring himself to worry about putting feelings out there when the grip of fingers laced through his own is so comforting. The implication of the statement isn’t missed by Mike, who breathes in deeply, his voice still soft as he asks,  
  
“Speaking from experience?”  
  
“In more ways than one,” James nods. “But… I’m appreciating it now. This. You.” He turns his head, instilled with some newfound confidence, or at least using the drink as an excuse to fake some. Mike, sensing James is looking at him, turns too, his eyes meeting James’s.  
  
“You’re appreciating me?” He sounds as breathless as he feels.  
  
“More so than usual.” James pauses. “You look lovely tonight.”  
  
“James…” Is all Mike can manage, his stomach in knots, his brain turned to mush. He can’t keep up with what’s happening, this bold move so different from the man who was trying to run away from his feelings earlier it gives Mike emotional whiplash. James lowers his head and shuffles impossibly closer, their foreheads almost touching.  
  
“I want to kiss you,” he whispers, electrifying the air between them, sending pulses through them both. “Can I kiss you, Mike?” All Mike can do is nod dumbly, too overwhelmed to even try and speak.  
  
It’s such a gentle kiss, this tentative press of lips that is so tame it has no right to steal Mike’s breath the way it does. He gasps, reaching out to clutch at James’s lapels when he feels hands settling on his waist. James pulls back only slightly, enough to look down and meet Mike’s eyes, his own face a picture of concern.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Mike echoes, giving a small nod. “More than okay. Great.” James just hums and leans down to kiss him again, more sure of himself this time. It’s more passionate, still closed-mouthed until the hands on Mike’s hips squeeze, and Mike lets out this sharp, breathy noise that has James crowding in closer, pressing him back against the railing of the pier. Mike moves his hands to James’s sides, holding him close, tilting his head and pressing back into the kiss when he remembers how to function again.  
  
It’s James’s turn to gasp, and Mike uses the parting of his lips as an excuse to deepen their kiss by doing the same. Their tongues meet and they both moan into the other’s mouth, both tighten fingers on cloth and try to get closer. Mentally, Mike curses the thick coat James is wearing, wants nothing more right now than to run his hands up under James’s shirt, wants to hear him gasp at the touch of cold fingers on warm sides.  
  
When they separate for air they’re both panting, pressed up against one another, and if Mike thought James looked good earlier, nothing compares to the state he’s in now, all flushed cheeks and dark eyes.  
  
“You’re stunning,” Mike utters, and the flush on James’s face deepens. “I just wanna touch you.”  
  
“Mike,” groans James. “You can’t say things like that to me.”  
  
“It’s the truth.” Mike answers cheekily, looping his arms around James’s lower back and pulling their bodies flush. James shakes his head but ducks down for another kiss anyway, unable to resist the temptation. His thumbs press into Mike’s hip bones in the most delicious way, like James is worried if he doesn’t hold on tight enough Mike would slip away. Which isn’t too far from the truth, really. As James curls his tongue against Mike’s he’s overwhelmed by how _good_ this feels, too good for it to last, surely.  
  
Boldly, Mike shifts his hips, rolling them forward into where James is pressed against him and the sound that James makes in response is downright filthy, this shocked, stuttered moan that gets swallowed up by Mike’s mouth. They lose track of time kissing against the railing, grinding against one another like a pair of teenagers, until a sharp wolf whistle from the path causes them to spring apart. It’s a group of young women, stumbling along tipsy much like Mike and James had been doing earlier, and while they’re whooping and cheering, the fact the shouts are encouraging them doesn’t help with making the embarrassment fade.  
  
“We should go,” James suggests, his voice gruff, strained. He makes no attempt to pull away, however, too comfortable with Mike’s warm body flush against his own.  
  
“Your place or mine?” Mike’s grinning at his own question, half-joking. He gets a light slap on his hip and an eye roll from James, but it just makes his smile wider.  
  
“Shut up,” James says through a nervous laugh. And Mike panics, worries that he’s pushed things too far, too soon. It was presumptuous of him, but Mike’s been daydreaming about James holding him, kissing him, touching him, for long enough. Now it’s happening he’s caught up in his own fantasies. Maybe they’re just that though, _his_ fantasies, desires that James doesn’t share.  
  
“Sorry, we can just—” Mike starts, but cuts himself off as he watches James pull out his phone, check the time.  
  
“It is getting late,” James concedes. Despite how fuzzy his head feels from the drink and the make-out session, he’s pleased to realise he’s still somewhat able to think rationally. “And it’s cold. I’ll call a cab.” Mike’s heart starts beating a little faster. He breathes a soft sigh of relief; glad James isn’t uncomfortable with the suggestion. “We’ll have to get back to the road.”  
  
As they start heading along toward the next set of steps which take them back up to street level, they keep to themselves, James too busy fumbling through the app as he tries to order an Uber. It’s only now that he’s trying to type in his own address that he realises just how inebriated he is, only realising he’s misjudged the layout of the keyboard as he looks back at all his spelling mistakes in the search bar. Mike stays close to him, however, leading them on and steering James gently by the elbow when the path curves or he’s about to walk straight into a bollard or bench.  
  
James pockets his phone once more, informing Mike they have sixteen minutes to get to Blackfriars where they’re being picked up. He reaches out, dances fingers across the back of Mike’s hand and the message is understood easily, fingers slotting together once more as they move with more purpose along the riverbank. They climb the steps at the bridge and huddle close together on the side of the road, the cold starting to affect them. Mike leans his head onto James and in response he gets an arm around his back, pulling him in closer. It feels so easy, so comfortable to do this, Mike’s worried he’s getting addicted already.  
  
They fall into the back of the car together, sniggering at their own childish behaviour, refusing to let go of each other. They’re being clingy and cute, pressed right up together on the seats, legs bumping, hands firmly clasped.  
  
“I told you you’re such a teenager,” James says, good-humoured, and Mike can’t even recall the anger the same comment sparked in him earlier, some distant memory long lost to him. Back when the night was young and the notion of being upset with James was a reality, something which is no longer plausible, overshadowed by this warmth and affection that Mike knows not to call love, but it feels pretty damn close. He just laughs, turns and buries his head in James’s neck, wrapping himself around him.  
  
“Are you complaining?” He asks, muffled by skin and James’s scarf. James hums and, boldly, brings a hand to the back of Mike’s head, showing he’s okay with the position they're in.  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
“Good. Shut up then.”  
  
“Why don’t you make me,” James challenges, running fingers through Mike’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp and eliciting a moan that James feels as much as he hears. Mike pulls back so he can look up at James, a hand still in his hair.  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” James answers, breathy, not as confident as he would like to appear. And any remnants of composure are lost as Mike’s mouth crashes into his, their teeth clacking from the force of the kiss and the slightly awkward angle.  
  
It's completely different to their kisses before, messier, desperate, like they’ve lost any restraint they may have had. Fingers tighten in Mike’s hair, pulling on short strands and Mike discovers if he grazes his teeth over James’s bottom lip, he makes the most delicious, needy sound. They’re frantic, parting to breath and gasp and move constantly. Mike cups James’s cheek, needing to hold him so they stay close.  
  
“You have no idea how much I wanna be in your lap right now,” Mike admits against James’s lips, and James groans, moving to bite and mouth at Mike’s neck.  
  
“You’re a menace,” he says, pulling Mike’s head backwards to expose his throat. The scratch of a beard against Mike’s skin is so good, and then there’s a hand running down his side, to his hip where he expects it to stop, but no, it settles on his thigh. Mike could die happy here. It’s slightly cramped and the angles are weird, but Mike turns himself inwards as much as he can, eager and unashamed he clings to James’s back.  
  
“This fucking coat,” Mike grumbles, annoyed that he’s pressing nails against James and he can’t even feel it. James snorts, fucking _snorts,_ the bastard, but Mike’s anger soon fades when James starts sucking and biting at his neck in a way which feels like it’s going to leave a mark. And Mike can’t even bring himself to care. The hand on his thigh drifts inward, dangerously close to his crotch, a pressure which draws sharp attention to his own arousal and has Mike gasping. It’s his turn now to manoeuvre James around by the back of his head, bringing him up for a real kiss again.  
  
The pair of them are so wrapped up in kissing one another, petting over their clothes, that they have no awareness of where they are, what’s passing by the windows. James doesn’t realise they’ve reached his street until he notices that the car has stopped, and he disentangles himself from Mike with a frown, looks around quickly. He recognises his building outside, then catches the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and is suddenly flushed with shame. What the hell were they doing? Practically groping each other in the back of a cab. Has he actually lost his mind?  
  
Mike takes a little longer to catch on, drunk and lovestruck and not being able to make out much in the dark through the window. Before he knows it, James is pulling away, taking his hands back and patting down the pockets of his own jeans. Mike only realises that they’ve reached their destination when James is reaching for the handle, pushing the door open. Mike’s just shuffling, getting himself ready to leave when James informs him,  
  
“I put your address in as the next stop.” Mike gets this cold, sinking feeling just below his ribs.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I split the fare,” James says in clarification, like _that’s_ the issue here. Mike frowns, sees James starting to climb out of the car but reaches out to grab his arm. James looks so panicked, and Mike’s lost, doesn’t really understand why.  
  
“Why? What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m going home, Mike. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you Monday.”  
  
“James,” Mike protests, somewhere between angry and hurt. “Come on, don’t do this. Come to mine, we can talk, have another few drinks.”  
  
“I think I’ve had enough, thanks.” James is only half in the car now, head poking in just to talk. He reminds Mike of a wild animal, trapped but planning his escape. But Mike isn’t going to hurt him, would never intentionally do anything to harm James.  
  
“So we don’t have to drink! Just, look, I can get out, or you get back in, just. Don’t run away.”  
  
“I’m not running away,” he tries to insist, looking to the driver again, stressed, sympathetic. “Look, Mike, I can’t stay here like this. We’re holding the cab up. I’ll see you.”  
  
“James!”  
  
“Goodnight, Mike. Thank you,” James says quickly, slamming the door on Mike and cutting off any protests he was making. James has to resist the urge to just slump back on the cab, to slide down and lay in a crumpled heap on the pavement. He forces his legs to work, walks much too quickly up to his door, fumbles only briefly with his keys. When he’s safely in his flat, he pushes aside the temptation of the couch, heads to the kitchen and grabs the first bottle of spirits he can find and takes it to his bedroom where he strips out of most of his clothes. He feels so stupid, so reckless, the shame and the stress and the confusion too much. He numbs it with swigs of vodka, wincing at the neat alcohol instead of his own actions. Maybe if he finishes the bottle all of this will go away, maybe the night will become one black blur. No more memories of Mike and kisses and other things which just make James feel messy and guilty, stokes his self-loathing.  
  
There’s still vodka left in the bottle as it’s rolled across the floor during a mini panic attack and sob session. James falls asleep with dried tear tracks on his face, a cocoon of regret and sadness and blankets. At least there’s the familiarity of his sheets, even if the pillow feels like it’s moving beneath his head. The world’s not sideways now, it’s spinning, and too fast. He lets go, allows himself to be flung off and swallowed by the blackness.

* * *

Mike texts him on Saturday, asking if they can talk. James ignores it.  
  
Hours go by, and Mike texts again. When the texts go unanswered, he starts calling. James ignores that too. First, he lets them ring off. Then he declines the calls. Some part of him knows he can’t hide from this forever. But for now, he can shut it out.  
  
James turns his phone off at some point during Saturday afternoon, puts it at the bottom of some drawer. It stays there until Sunday night when he needs to set an alarm. Even then, he leaves it in airplane mode, not aware of the dozens of voicemails and text messages piled up from Mike.  
  
Mike, meanwhile, is having a meltdown. He wants nothing more than to turn to his friends, to ask for advice, but he can’t do that without explaining what happened between him and James, and he’s so not ready for that.  
  
He tries to distract himself, to keep his mind occupied but it’s not much use. He spends the weekend cycling through confusion, longing, anger (at James and himself), and then back to the start. He keeps reaching out to James, trying to reason with him, even when his calls go straight to answerphone and the delivery receipts stay on ‘sent’ not ‘delivered’.  
  
 _I hope you’re okay._ Mike writes. Because despite the—frankly, kind of childish—silent treatment, he still does. Still cares for James, recalls the panicked look on his face as he left, and wants to make all that go away, but he isn’t letting him. James is usually so mature about everything, the fact he’s hiding from this makes Mike think it must have hit him hard. He just wants to reassure him, that’s all. He keeps texting, sends off messages every time James pops into his thoughts, which, it turns out, is a lot. He’d be embarrassed about looking desperate, if he wasn’t so full of concern.  
  
 _Please don’t shut me out  
  
What’s going on? Whatever it is you can tell me_  
  
 _I told you I could never hate you remember?  
  
Just talk to me please James  
  
I can’t stop thinking about you  
  
Call me when you read these?  
  
James  
  
Jaaaaaames?  
  
I miss you  
  
I’m sorry  
  
Or we don’t have to talk? Just check your phone  
  
Tell me you’re alive  
  
You’re worrying me now James  
  
Please call me  
  
_Sent, not delivered. All of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are hard, so maybe I used some of this to reminisce about going to South Bank, what of it? Life's weird right now and Mike specifically mentioned walking along the Thames, so I'm sure you'll agree this was all necessary. Even the painful bits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm completely happy with everything in this chapter, especially some of the dialogue? So apologies if any of it sounds weird. But it's been several weeks and I just cannot look at this any longer. Just sit back and enjoy the emotional journey my pals!

Monday rolls around, and when James wakes up over an hour before his alarm after his third night of terrible sleep, he seriously considers calling in sick. But he must admit, the thought of throwing himself into his work instead of moping around with only his own thoughts for another day is appealing. He’ll have to see Mike eventually anyway. May as well get it over with, he supposes. He gets up, abandoning all hope of sleep, and heads to the kitchen to pull out the flour. If he’s going to be up at the crack of dawn, he thinks, he may as well be somewhat productive.  
  
James arrives to the studio earlier than usual, with a box of sweet, iced buns which he leaves beside the coffee machine. Ben’s already at his desk reading through some article, the studio quiet apart from the occasional clicks of a mouse or keyboard. James taps Ben on the shoulder, forces a smile.  
  
“Morning,” he greets. “I left goodies in the kitchen.” Ben’s eyebrows raise and he turns his chair slightly toward James.  
  
“Goodies?”  
  
“Of the baked kind,” James clarifies. “Just some buns, nothing exciting, but still. Help yourself.” Ben nods but gives James a curious look.  
  
“For any particular reason?”  
  
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. Ben’s eyes widen slightly in realisation.  
  
“ _You_ baked them?”  
  
“Of course I baked them,” James says, sounding almost offended.  
  
“But it’s a Monday morning!”  
  
“Yeah, well, like I said. Couldn’t sleep. Anyway, they’re in the box by the coffee maker if you want some.” Ben watches James walk away to sit at his own desk, frowning ever so slightly. He shakes his head, shrugs off the somewhat odd behaviour, convincing himself that everything’s probably fine. It’s just baking some bread. Typical of James, really.  
  
“Okay, thanks James. I’ll try one later.” James gives a nod of acknowledgement and gets settled, puts his headphones on and immediately tries to immerse himself in his work. Thankfully they’re not filming anything today, so he hopes he can get by with minimal conversation, because he’s really not feeling up to talking to people and having to pretend that he’s fine right now. He’s vaguely aware of the time passing, knots forming and tightening in his stomach with every minute that goes by and brings him closer to Mike’s arrival. He turns his music up a little, so he doesn’t even have to fake ignorance at the inevitable presence of the current source of his turmoil.  
  
Mike, when he gets in, goes on quite the emotional rollercoaster. The sight of James at his desk initially floods him with relief, glad that he’s safe and well enough to have made it into work. However, the sentiment is fleeting, quickly ushered out by a simmering rage. James still hasn’t answered a single one of his messages, and here he is acting like everything is normal? Mike doesn’t know what to do with himself, wants to scream and tug at his hair. He wants to storm over and demand what James is playing at, but the office is full and it’s first thing on a Monday morning and he can’t start the day, let alone the week, off in that manner.  
  
James gets up a couple of times throughout the morning to get himself a drink, and doesn’t so much as look in Mike’s direction. Mike knows this because he’s hyper-aware of James’s presence, watching him maybe a little too closely, and no, it’s not creepy thank you very much, he’s allowed to stare because he’s personally invested in the man’s behaviour. It doesn’t take long at all for the hurt and worry in Mike to fester, developing into a bitter resentment that taints his mood.  
  
He has a brief meeting with Barry about photos for their social media pages, and _knows_ he’s being curt, tries to reign it in because Barry’s done nothing wrong, but he feels like shit and Mike can’t hide it very well at all  
  
“What’s up with you today, Mike?” Barry asks, trying to sound light-hearted but betraying the slightest bit of concern. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?”  
  
“Something like that,” Mike grumbles, rubbing at his eyes. The swirl of emotions that seeing James has stirred up is making his head hurt, making it hard to focus. Barry notices how defeated Mike looks, softens slightly.  
  
“Hey. Everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, Baz,” he says, trying his best to sound reassuring. “Just had a bit of a mad weekend, y’know?” Barry’s face lights up and he gets this wicked look in his eye.  
  
“Oh, it was, was it?”  
  
“Not like that,” Mike groans, but Barry just laughs, nudges Mike playfully.  
  
“Yeah, alright mate, whatever you say.” Mike shakes his head, but doesn’t protest any more, figures that’ll do to keep Barry of his case at least for now. And it works; they get back into brainstorming and reviewing shots and it’s all mostly fine. The day feels almost normal.  
  
Until they break for lunch, and suddenly everyone’s about, talking to each other. Everyone except for James, who remains at his desk despite noticing the people around him in his peripheral vision getting up, stepping away from their computes. The other four have congregated away from their workstations, discussing where they could go to eat, when Jamie looks back to the desks with furrowed brows.  
  
“Is James not coming?” Mike tries to keep his face neutral as he shrugs, but Ben follows Jamie’s line of sight, develops a frown.  
  
“He’s been really quiet, I…” Ben pauses, unsure if he should say what he’d been thinking all morning. He doesn’t really want to gossip, but he is a little worried about his friend’s behaviour. He glances back at James who’s still focussed on his work, and then lowers his voice when he speaks again, “I don’t know what’s up with him? He was up baking before work this morning.”  
  
“Well, that’s just James for you,” Barry shrugs, “Mister pretentious making his own bread yet again.”  
  
“That’s what I thought at first too, but then I remembered. I sent him a picture of my artisanal cheese on Saturday, and he didn’t even reply to me.”  
  
“I’m sorry, _what?”_ Jamie exclaims through a burst of laughter.  
  
“Is that some sort of euphuism?” Asks Barry, his nose wrinkled. Mike stays quiet, glancing back at James, gears turning in his head. Had James been ignoring everyone? Not just him? That didn’t make sense at all. Why would he be ignoring Ben?  
  
“No, shut up,” Ben admonished, slapping Jamie lightly on the arm to silence his giggling. “I went to a farmer’s market, and he wanted to know what I got. Remember, Mike?” Mike’s eyes go wide.  
  
“What now?”  
  
“On Friday, when I left,” Ben pauses, tilting his head as he looks at Mike, and suddenly the events of Friday evening come rushing back to him. “Oh. When I left… Mike?”  
  
“I don’t think I remember that,” Mike says, too quickly, and he knows immediately that it makes him look very suspicious. Jamie and Barry, unaware of the little spat, look between Ben and Mike, lost and waiting for an explanation.  
  
“What happened after I left? You guys sorted everything out, right?” Mike feels sick, feels like he can’t breathe. Why didn’t he anticipate Ben asking him about Friday, how did he forget Ben was there at the start? Actually, he knows all too well why Ben—and indeed the argument with James—had slipped his mind. So much had happened after, why would he dwell on Ben of all things.  
  
“What do you mean sorted it out? Did something happen?” Jamie asks.  
  
“No, nothing happened,” Mike tries to insist. Barry, putting the pieces together, points at Mike almost accusingly,  
  
“Is that why you were in a bad mood earlier? Because you and James had a fight?”  
  
“It wasn’t a fight!”  
  
“Just a slight disagreement.”  
  
“Whose side are you on, Ben?” Cries Mike, his voice rising in pitch as the panic grows. He feels like he’s being interrogated, and he hates it. He doesn’t deserve this; James has been the one causing problems, and now here’s Mike taking the heat for him. It’s bullshit.  
  
“Hey, alright, calm down,” Ben says gently. “There are no sides, okay? I just want to know what happened.”  
  
“Nothing happened!”  
  
“You’re acting like something happened, mate,” Barry counters.  
  
“I’m not acting like anything!” Mike’s so agitated, doesn’t care if he’s shouting now. Doesn’t care if James overhears them, in fact, let him. Let him know how worked up over this Mike is. He’s tried being nice and James is giving him the cold shoulder, so he can get Mike’s rage instead. “Why are you asking me all these questions? If you’re so worried about James go and speak to him! I’m not some bloody James expert just because you left us to get drinks together.”  
  
“I’m not saying that,” Ben tries to reason, but his stupidly calm, borderline patronising voice just riles Mike up even more. “I just wondered if you settled your… issues on Friday, or if that could help explain things.”  
  
“Well I can’t read minds, can I?” Mike snaps. “So, you’ll have to go ask James what he thinks about what happened of Friday, because honestly, I haven’t got a fucking clue.” With that, Mike storms off dramatically, unable to be around them anymore. He needs fresh air, he needs to breathe, he needs to not be forced to talk about anything that went on with him and James, or he might just cry.  
  
The three of them stand in a stunned silence, watching Mike leave and looking between each other with concern.  
  
“Should… Should I go after him?” Jamie questions, but Ben shakes his head,  
  
“No, give him some space. He looked like he needs it.”  
  
“What on earth went on after we left on Friday?” Barry probes in a hushed tone, aware that James is still in the room. He hasn’t turned around or come over to join them, however, even though they’re all pretty sure he must have heard Mike yelling.  
  
“Honestly, I’m not really sure,” Ben admits. “Mike asked me some question and then James snapped at him, and suddenly they were arguing. But I assumed they’d talked it all out. James offered to buy Mike a drink to say sorry and everything.” Ben feels deeply uncomfortable talking about James like this when he’s only a few feet away.  
  
“Something must have happened between them,” Barry muses. “Mike was being a bit tetchy earlier as well.”  
  
“I can’t imagine James in a fight,” says Jamie. “It must have been bad if they’re not even talking to each other.”  
  
“Okay, let’s leave it there,” Ben asserts, feeling like this is definitely moving into gossip territory. “I’ll try and talk to James, see if we can figure it out.”  
  
“Right. Well, looks like it’s just me and you for lunch today then Jay.” Jamie nods, and the two of them head out, giving Ben a small wave goodbye. Ben takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and then heads over to tap James on the shoulder. James slips off his headphones, tilts his head to look up at Ben with wide eyes. He’d been staring at his computer screen with an unfocused gaze and a racing heart since he overheard Mike’s shouting, just waiting for one of them to come over and talk to him. And of course, it’s Ben who’s here to try and patch them up.  
  
“Hey,” greets Ben, his voice soft. “Come get lunch with me?”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s okay, you guys can go without me, I’m good. I’m just gonna stay here, do some more research for this recipe.”  
  
“I’m sure the recipe can wait. Come on, you need a break. Even if it’s just for a coffee.”  
  
“I really just want to get this done,” James tries to insist, not prepared to sit and have Ben talk at him with this sympathetic look, not prepared to admit what’s wrong.  
  
“James. Please? I want to talk to you,” and now there’s this edge to authority to Ben’s voice, making it sound more like an instruction than a request. James sighs, slumps his shoulders in defeat and bookmarks the pages he has open.  
  
“Fine. Let’s get coffee? I’m not really hungry.”  
  
They walk a short distance to one of Ben’s favourite coffee shops, a small independent café tucked away down a side street. The kind of place with white tiles on one wall and reclaimed wood furnishings, where you choose your own blend of beans and the food labels are handwritten in chalk on little blackboards. The lights are suspended on long chains from the ceiling, covered in leaves and vines from the large number of hanging plants. Its cosy, not too busy even now the lunchtime rush is kicking in, and it smells like fresh ground coffee and baked pastries. James doesn’t hate it.  
  
Ben orders a Guatemalan with some fancy seeded bagel and a slice of earl grey and white chocolate cake as James quickly scans the menu. He hadn’t been hungry, really, but the baked goods look so delicious he can’t help but ask for a lemon and lavender sponge to go with his Kenyan filter coffee. They find a table and sit for a while in a comfortable silence, eating their food and drinking their coffee, enjoy the hum of activity around them. However, when Ben’s done with his bagel and brushed any stray crumbs off his lap, he fixes James with pointed look. James exhales heavily.  
  
“Do we have to talk about Mike?”  
  
“You heard him earlier then?” James winces slightly at the memory.  
  
“It would’ve been pretty hard not to hear him. I think people on the street outside probably got to eavesdrop on that.”  
  
“He seemed pretty… Annoyed? About you. When we mentioned you,” Ben says carefully. In response James simply hums and sips his coffee, so Ben continues, “I take it you two didn’t kiss and make up after I left you on Friday then?”  
  
James chokes on his drink, just managing not to splutter all over himself and Ben.  
  
“What?” He yelps, wide eyed and coughing slightly. Ben tilts his head, his brows knitting together at the reaction.  
  
“On Friday? I thought you and Mike would’ve talked things out, moved on from your argument. But clearly that didn’t happen.” James relaxes slightly, realising that Ben wasn’t deliberately taunting him with the idea of kissing Mike. “So?”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“James, come on,” Ben sighs. “I know something must have gone on. You and Mike have both been off today; we’ve all noticed it.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’ll try and be more professional,” James offers, feeling like he’s back at school being told off by a teacher, but it’s not a teacher it’s Ben, Ben who’s now rolling his eyes at him.  
  
“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. This isn’t a work conversation. It’s an _I’m worried about my friends and neither of them will talk to me_ conversation.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about me.”  
  
“Except I do, because you’re my friend, and clearly something has upset you. I just… I want to understand, James. If we can understand what all this is about, then we can start to deal with it, on both sides.”  
  
“I’m not upset,” James protests. “I’m not, it isn’t like that, but I… I can’t even think about speaking to Mike right now.”  
  
“Did he say something?” Ben asks, concerned. “Are you angry at him, is that it?”  
  
“Not really? But…” James shakes his head. “I can’t, Ben, I can’t talk about it, I can’t explain any of it,” he rambles starting to hyperventilate. And then Ben’s reaching out, covering his hand, holding it firmly down against the table and meeting James’s eyes.  
  
“Okay, look at me, James? Look at me? Don’t work yourself up. Just, deep breaths, talk me through it. At your own pace.”  
  
“I can’t,” James chokes out, tears starting to well in his eyes. He’s confused and frustrated, and Ben’s only being so nice to him because he doesn’t know that James has done. “I can’t tell you; you’ll look at me differently if I do.”  
  
“I promise, you can trust me. Whatever it is. I won’t even tell anyone else, okay? But if it’s upsetting you this much, you can’t just bottle it all up, James.”  
  
“I kissed him,” James blurts out, barely intelligible. Ben blinks at him.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Mike. I kissed him, I kissed Mike. A-after you left, we got a drunk, and then we were walking together, and I kissed him. And now I’m so confused, and I don’t know what to do around him and he probably hates me and—”  
  
“James,” Ben interrupts, squeezing his hand that he’s still holding on the table, “Breathe.” Ben takes a big breath in, and James would be annoyed at the stupid exercise and being treated like a child if he wasn’t so worked up, so he gives in and copies Ben’s exaggerating breathing pattern until his chest aches a little less. “Better?”  
  
“A bit,” he replies in a small voice. “Sorry, you don’t need to deal with all of this, it’s my business.”  
  
“It kind of stopped being your business when the two of you came into work this morning,” Ben hums, but he smiles, puts pressure on James’s hand again. He’s honestly still sort of stunned by the confession, doesn’t know what to make of the situation even now he knows the problem, but Ben appreciates that James has opened up to him. “But it’s okay, don’t apologise. We can work it all out.”  
  
“I feel like I’ve fucked everything up.”  
  
“Why? What happened after you kissed him?”  
  
“He kissed me back. Like, more than once. But he was drunk, and I was stupid, and I was just taking advantage of him.”  
  
“Taking advantage how?” Ben asks, frown deepening.  
  
“By letting it carry on. Clearly he’d had too much, because he wanted us to go home together. But I was, I don’t know, it was nice, and I was enjoying it, and I let it go on too long.” Ben stares at him for a few moments, assessing James’s face like it could help him solve some great mystery.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually with a small shake of his head. “I don’t really see what the problem is here? You kissed each other, you’re two adults, and it sounds like you both enjoyed it. Why are you confused?”  
  
“Because it’s Mike!” James exclaims by way of explanation, but Ben still looks at him blankly.  
  
“Right?”  
  
“And _Mike_ was ready to go home with me. So obviously I let all this happen when he was too drunk to understand what we were doing.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
“Because Mike is straight, and I’m a guy?”  
  
“He’s not,” Ben counters, almost reflexively. James blinks.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Mike’s bi.” Ben states it so calmly, so plain, like he’s telling James that the sky is blue.  
  
“He’s _what?_ ”  
  
“Bisexual. He likes men and women?”  
  
“Yeah, no, thanks Ben, I know what it means,” James quips, sarcasm sneaking back into his voice. “I’m generally quite educated on things that apply to me.”  
  
“Is that what all this is about?” Ben asks, realisation crashing over him. “You didn’t know that Mike’s into guys?”  
  
“Of course I didn’t know!” James practically squawks. “How would I have known that?” Ben shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t know, I assumed it was obvious. He doesn’t actively hide it or anything. But I’m guessing you two didn’t do a lot of talking about what was happening before it happened.” James flushes at that, turns sheepish, and it draws this small teasing smile out of Ben.  
  
“I will admit there wasn’t much talking. It was mostly… Other things,” he finishes vaguely, deciding Ben doesn’t need to know the specifics of him and Mike grinding against one another in public.  
  
“Okay. Well, anyway, if you were worried about Mike being straight and acting weird toward you, then that’s not an issue.”  
  
“We were still both pretty drunk though,” James sighs. “It’s awkward.”  
  
“It’s only awkward because the two of you haven’t talked about it.”  
  
“No, it’s definitely still awkward to kiss your friends and then have them say they’re not attracted to you.”  
  
“James, no offence, but even if you’re drunk, I don’t think anyone kisses their friends if they aren’t at least a little bit attracted to them. Otherwise it would just feel really weird. I mean, are you attracted to Mike?”  
  
“I guess?” James sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I hadn’t really thought about it much. I mean yeah, he’s obviously good looking, but I hadn’t thought about it beyond that. But then, on Friday when I snapped at him? I think… I think I was jealous. And then when we were talking, I realised that I kind of like him. Maybe?” Ben gives him a sympathetic smile.  
  
“Honestly? I think you just need to tell Mike that.”  
  
“I’ve been ignoring him,” James admits, shaking his head and looking despondent. “I was too scared of what he might say about it all, so I haven’t checked my phone since Saturday morning. Even if there was anything there, I’m pretty sure he hates me now.”  
  
“He did seem angry,” Ben nods, recalling the way Mike had snapped at them earlier. “But all you can do there is apologise. Whatever the outcome is, you need to have a conversation. You’re friends, and you work together, you can’t just let this hang over the two of you and hope it’ll go away.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have kissed him, this is such a mess.”  
  
“Do you regret the kiss, or do you regret how you reacted?” Ben asks with this knowing smile. “Because it doesn’t really sound like the kissing is what you’re upset about.”  
  
“Am I that obvious?” James whines, flushing slightly. Ben just laughs, this warm sound that makes James feel somewhat normal. Like he did when they were young and at uni, trading dating tales while Ben looks at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for details. “The kissing was quite good, actually.”  
  
“There we go then! I think just apologise to him, give him the best explanation that you can. Because right now, all Mike knows is that you two kissed and suddenly you don’t want to talk to him. Which probably doesn’t feel great.”  
  
“Oh my god, I’m such an arsehole,” James groans, covering his face with his hands.  
  
“Hey,” Ben shrugs, taking a drink of his coffee. “At least you have something to look forward to.” James lets his hands fall away to reveal a frown, wondering how on earth there could be an upside to the situation.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just think of how good the make-up sex will be.”  
  
“Ben!” James cries scandalised, looking around and making sure nobody overheard them, which just makes Ben giggle. “I hate you. Like, I actually hate you.”  
  
“No you don’t, I’m a great relationship coach. And you’re only flustered because you know I’m right,” he says smugly, popping some cake into his mouth.  
  
“Shut up,” grumbles James, returning to his own coffee. Ben sniggers and James shoots him a disapproving look, but the wide smile on Ben’s face is infectious, and whilst James doesn’t show it, the joking does lift his mood. He just hopes that the real Mike is as forgiving as the one which seems to exist in Ben’s imagination.

* * *

Walking back into the studio is one of the most nerve-wracking things James has done in recent memory. Mike’s already there, and the sight of him makes this anxiety swell inside James, the dread of confrontation making him nauseous. Ben must sense his worry, because he puts a reassuring hand on James’s shoulder and gives him a small smile.  
  
“Go somewhere,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry about work today. I think it’s more important you two sort things out.”  
  
“Thank you, Ben,” James replies, earnest. He’s grateful to have colleagues that are so understanding, to have supportive people around him. Ben gives him a small pat and disappears off to their dry stores to check what flour alternatives they have.  
  
James feels like he’s limbering up to do a high jump or something, taking a few deep breaths and mentally preparing himself for the hurdle that is talking to Mike for the first time since Friday night. Mike has his headphones on, running through some footage, so James taps him gingerly on the shoulder to get his attention. Mike’s aware of James behind him, and briefly considers turning the silent treatment back on James, showing him what it feels like to be ignored, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He pulls his headphones off one ear and turns slightly, deliberately meeting James’s eye.  
  
“Can I help you with something?” Mike spits, and the cold greeting stabs James right in the chest, driving his sense of guilt through the roof.  
  
“I owe you an explanation,” James states plainly, figures there’s no use skating around this anymore. “Ben’s given us the afternoon off. I was hoping you would come somewhere, with me?”  
  
“I don’t think I have anything to say to you.”  
  
“You don’t have to speak. Just… Please, Mike, hear me out? Even if you still hate me after, just. Let me try?” Mike spins his chair a little more in search of Ben, and finds he’s got his back to them. Typical of him to be making an effort to stay out of their business.  
  
“Ben’s okay with it?”  
  
“Yeah, he said it’s important we try and sort this out,” James answers with a grimace. He feels so uncomfortable, knows he only has himself to blame. “Is that a yes?”  
  
“Suppose so,” Mike huffs, turning away to save his work. James hovers awkwardly, waiting for Mike to shut everything down, and then he’s standing, James moving to give him space. They don’t say anything as they leave together, and nobody questions them, but there are looks passed around the studio, a sense of relief that at least some action is being taken.  
  
It’s clear but cold outside, and there’s no discussion about their destination, but they walk to the nearest little park and find an empty bench. They sit down, space between them, not looking at one another for a few minutes. Mike watches a squirrel run across the grass and onto a bench at the other side of the park, waiting for James to make his case.  
  
“I don’t really know where to start,” James admits in a soft voice, when the awkward silence becomes too much to bear. “Sorry doesn’t feel good enough.”  
  
“You’re right there,” Mike mutters, and James nods.  
  
“Yeah. Okay, so,” he takes a deep breath. “I’ve been ignoring you, and that’s really shitty, and I can see now how that was definitely not the right thing to do. And I am sorry for that, Mike. But after Friday, I was just, I was so scared and confused and I didn’t want to deal with it, so I thought if I just switched my phone off it would go away.”  
  
“If you regretted it so much you could’ve just grown a pair and told me,” Mike says bitterly. “Would’ve saved me from making myself look like a tit worrying about you.”  
  
“That’s the thing Mike, I don’t regret it. I wanted to do it again, I wanted to kiss you again, and that scared me.”  
  
“Oh, charming. So I’m scary am I?” Mike turns to look at him now, and he looks so hurt, so angry, and he doesn’t deserve any of it. James thinks if he can’t get Mike’s forgiveness for causing this, he’ll never be able to live with himself. "The thought of being with someone like me was so bad it scared you away from even talking to me?"  
  
“No, of course not! But… I was talking to Ben about all of this, and this is going to sound stupid, but hear me out okay? I was scared because I thought you were straight. Don’t say anything,” James instructs, seeing that Mike wants to interrupt him. “I know you kissed me, but I thought that was just because we were so drunk. A-and then I was having all of these feelings about you, and I felt like I took advantage, and it was too much. That’s why I ran away and left you in the cab, because you were saying all this stuff about going home together and I thought you must be so drunk you don’t even know what you’re asking me for.”  
  
Mike stares at him for a long while when he finishes speaking, observing the rise and fall of James’s chest with his heavy breathing, the desperate look in his eyes. He runs the information over a few times in his head, trying to make sense of it. James liked kissing him. James wasn’t put off by Mike coming on to him. James didn’t even know about Mike’s sexuality. James felt guilty about using him. He thinks he’s got the facts straight. What a stupid and completely avoidable situation, Mike thinks to himself.  
  
“You’re an idiot mate,” Mike says, shaking his head. It’s not at all the response James was expecting, his eyes widening at the statement.  
  
“What?”  
  
“For assuming all this stuff. If you would’ve answered your phone just once I could’ve told you how wrong you were and stopped you from beating yourself up all weekend.”  
  
“I know, but I was scared. I felt like I couldn’t tell you how much I liked it without making you think I was a creep or something. I just didn’t want it to be uncomfortable.”  
  
“Oh well great job on that one,” Mike remarks sarcastically.  
  
“I know. I know, okay?” James groans. “I messed up. I should’ve talked to you, I shouldn’t have shut myself off and let it spiral, but in the moment, it felt like the best thing for both of us. I know that I probably made you feel confused, or hurt, and angry, and so I really am sorry for that.”  
  
“It felt shit James. You said you wanted me, we did all that stuff, and then you just disappear? Then I text you, so many times, trying to make sure you were okay, and you never even opened them. And then I come into work this morning and there you are, still not having said a word to me. I felt like a right mug.”  
  
“I bet. And I hate myself for making you feel like that. I’m so grateful that you were looking out for me even though I didn’t deserve it. And it probably doesn’t count for much now, but I meant everything I said to you.” James sighs heavily, his expression pained. “Look, I haven’t been mature about any of this. But I want to start because it’s only been a few days and I hate things being weird between us. We can’t go on and like this, for the sake of our work if nothing else.”  
  
Mike rubs at his temple, feeling incredibly overwhelmed. He hadn’t really expected James to be so upfront and apologetic, so it’s a nice surprise to be faced with the honesty. And there’s a part of him—the part of him that has been crushing on James for who knows how long—that wants to say screw it all and dive back in where they last left off, close and carefree. But the hurt from the last few days hasn’t faded completely, still a fresh cut that’s only just starting to scab over.  
  
“I want to forgive you,” Mike starts, and he sees James’s face fall. “I do forgive you; I suppose. I still think you’re an idiot for not talking to me, but I think I understand why you did what you did. And I like you James, like… I _really_ like you, which makes this so fucking hard.”  
  
“Y-you like me?” James echoes when he realises Mike is done talking. Mike laughs bitterly.  
  
“James, I’ve fancied you for so long. I thought you were out of my league, so Friday was like this dream coming true. And then when you were ignoring me, I thought it was because you realised that I wasn’t good enough, that you were embarrassed about doing anything with me.”  
  
“I’m so not out of your league, now who’s being an idiot,” James teases. He wants to give Mike a playful nudge, but he stops himself, feels like that may be trying to run before he can walk. He's not about to push his luck when it comes to how much Mike will tolerate from him.   
  
“Yeah, well at least my gaydar works,” Mike retorts, and it actually draws a laugh from James, breaks the tension between them.  
  
“Hey, technically I’m not gay.”  
  
“Yeah well neither am I. So you have no excuse, you should have the same, like… sbider sense.”  
  
“Spider sense?” James repeats, brows creased in confusion.  
  
“No, s _bi-_ der sense? Y’know, because we’re both—never mind,” Mike sighs, shaking his head dismissively. James can’t contain the fond smile that tugs at his lips.  
  
“That was terrible joke.”  
  
“Aren’t you supposed to be being nice to me or something? Insulting my amazing humour is an awful way to apologise, James.”  
  
“I’m sorry Mike, how many times do I have to say it? Do you want me to get down on my knees or something?” Mike raises his eyebrows, looks James up and down.  
  
“Tempting, but I feel like we’ve got to give it some time until we’re at that stage.” James flushes ever so slightly, and a laugh bursts out of Mike, the sound bright and mischievous.  
  
“Are we… working towards that stage?” James asks boldly.  
  
“Is that what you want?”  
  
“Yeah? Yeah, I think it is. I really did like kissing you.” Mike hums, thinking for a few moments before giving in. He’s wanted this for too long, and when it comes to James he realises he has very little self-control. He’s not going to hold himself back anymore.  
  
“That’s good, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your lips in days.”  
  
“Glad we’re on the same page, because I’ve been haunted by the way you moan when your neck’s being kissed,” James admits.  
  
“Oh yeah, you found that out didn’t you? I’d be annoyed about you giving me a hickey if you weren’t so hot.”  
  
“Oh my god,” James groans, “Did I really?” Mike tilts his head to the side and pulls his jumper down to reveal the bruise on his collarbone, and the sight of it does something weird to James’s head. He’s hit with a thrum of possessiveness, filled with pride at seeing a mark on Mike’s skin and knowing _he_ put it there. Mike notices the way James’s eyes glaze over a little and sniggers, filing that information away for a later date.  
  
“Proud of your handiwork?” He teases, and James just makes an appreciative noise in response, loses himself in the memories of just how that bruise got there. They sit in a more comfortable silence for a little while, any feelings of animosity seemingly gone.  
  
“Are we okay, Mike?” James murmurs eventually. He sounds so soft, so vulnerable, and Mike knows that all of the drama of the last few days could never have been deliberate. He hears the worry in James’s voice and is sure that he would never have intentionally tried to hurt Mike. That makes it more palatable, he supposes. Easier to forgive him.  
  
“I think we are. Just promise me something, yeah?”  
  
“Anything.”  
  
“Talk to me about how you’re feeling. Whether its good or bad, I don’t mind, just… It doesn’t work out well for anyone when you try and shut people out.”  
  
“I can see that now,” James hums. “I’ll talk to you. I promise. Nothing but honesty from here on out.” Mike nods with a smile, reaching a hand across to James with just his pinky finger up. James laughs softly in disbelief. “Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah, come on. Pinky promise, or I won’t believe you,” Mike replies playfully. James rolls his eyes, but Mike knows a fond look when he sees one, and James’s eyes betray his true feelings. James links their pinkies together, shaking their hands gently up and down. Mike grins, satisfied that the promise has been made and moves his hand away just enough to open all of his fingers up. James looks down, back to Mike for confirmation, and all it takes is the slightest nod of permission from Mike before he’s lacing their fingers together. James lets out a content sigh and Mike shifts closer on the bench, leaning his head onto James’s shoulder, because he’s there and Mike’s missed the feeling of being close to him.  
  
“It’s so cold, but I don’t want to go,” James whines when a particularly strong wind blows, rustling the bare branches of the trees above them.  
  
“I thought you said Ben gave us the day off?”  
  
“He did,” James hums, and then flushes slightly at the memory of what Ben had said to him. “But I think that’s because he wasn’t planning on us working things out like this.”  
  
“What’s that mean?” Mike frowns. “You told him what happened?”  
  
“Yeah, I told him.”  
  
“So what, he was expecting us to fight or something?”  
  
“No, uh— quite the opposite, really,” James says, vaguely. His cheeks feel hot, and he feels silly even talking about it, wonders why he didn’t just keep this to himself. “He said something about make-up sex,” he mumbles in explanation, causing Mike to snort beside him.  
  
“Of course he did. Although, to be fair… It’s not such a bad idea.”  
  
“Mike!”  
  
“I’m kidding, don’t worry,” Mike laughs. Pauses. “Unless?” James arches an eyebrow at him, feeling an odd mix of flustered and intrigued. It’s a little weird having this kind of conversation with Mike whilst sober, but it’s not bad, he thinks. Just new.  
  
“I thought we were working towards that?”  
  
“Yeah, me too, but you’ve put the imagine in my head now. And the thought of getting you all worked up again is _very_ appealing,” he purrs, and then hastens to add in a normal voice, “but if you wanna take it slow that’s fine, I mean, we can do that.”  
  
“I’m not completely against the idea,” James admits. He does have to agree, the memory alone of kissing Mike is enough to tempt him. He thinks for a moment, idly stroking the back of Mike’s hand with his thumb. “You wanna come to mine? I could make us dinner; we can see what happens. No pressure.”  
  
“Are you trying to spoil me?” Mike teases.  
  
“So what if I am? I think you deserve it.”  
  
“I’m not saying no, just want to make that clear. But I really don’t want to start a trend of you buttering me up with food and drink as a way of saying sorry. Okay?”  
  
“Hopefully I’ll just stop doing things I need to apologise for,” James sighs. Mike smiles ruefully, squeezes James’s hand.  
  
“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. You wanna head off?” James nods eagerly and they both stand, their hands still linked between them as they walk to the tube, discussing potential dinner plans. It feels so right, just touching each other like they do this all the time, without a care in the world.  
  
Mike constantly leans into James on the train, doesn’t even have the excuse of peak times and rammed carriages, but he’s in James’s personal space anyway, pressing his face into the taller man’s chest. James touches him too, rests a hand on Mike’s hip and even chances a kiss into his hair when Mike puts his head on his shoulder. It should be too soon, Mike thinks. Maybe he shouldn’t be so over the pain already, maybe it shouldn’t feel so natural to be this casually intimate, but he just can’t bring himself to see any of this as a bad thing. Why should he cling to the past instead of allowing himself to move on? Isn't life too short to keep holding grudges over slight misunderstandings? Meanwhile,James is just grateful for this luxury, that despite his own stupidity he’s still allowed to be in Mike's life in this capacity. He plans to make the most of having Mike in this way, as long as Mike will let him.  
  
“Thank you for giving me another chance,” James says, letting his cheek rest atop Mike’s head as they lean into one another. Mike hums, tapping their joined hands on James’s knee.  
  
“I told you, there’s not much you can do that would make me hate you. Maybe we both like each other too much?” James laughs softly.  
  
“Maybe. But I can’t really see that as a bad thing.”  
  
“Yeah, me neither. This feels way too nice to be negative,” Mike agrees. James hides a smile in Mike’s hair by kissing him chastely again, feels a squeeze to his hand and figures they’re going to be alright.

* * *

It takes a few months for James to completely get over the guilt before the specifics of that eventful evening come to light. The relationship between him and Mike develops, they start arriving to work together often enough that nobody remarks on it anymore. They’re more touchy-feely on nights at the pub when they’re a couple of pints in, and it just starts to feel normal. Nobody quite knows how they got there (aside from Ben who has a rough idea) but it becomes a fact of life. In the initial aftermath, their friends were too worried to ask for the details, and the whole ordeal mostly fades into the back of their minds when they realise they can start teasing James especially, for being soft on Mike.  
  
The two of them move past it with ease, James slowly starts to learn how to talk about his emotions, and Mike gets good at working things out of him when he tries to clam up. They’re a few months past the incident when there’s discussion of doing a ramen video for the channel, and Mike groans dramatically causing everyone to look at him, clearly lost.  
  
“Please, no Japanese food. I swear I still have PTSD,” he jokes. It’s silent for a moment, nobody understanding what he’s talking about, and then James’s eyes go wide as he gets the reference. He starts to panic, but he can see the wicked grin on Mike’s face and knows he’s just trying to rile James up, that he's not actually upset about it still.  
  
“Oh please,” James says dryly. “Hasn’t put you off cocktails, has it?”  
  
“Don’t say that word!” Mike cries, his hand going to his forehead, pretending to feel faint . “Just the thought of a long island ice tea gives me flashbacks.”  
  
“We didn’t even have long island ice teas,” James sighs, shaking his head. “You’re such a drama queen.” The other three look around between the couple, to each other, faces perfect pictures of confusion searching for an explanation.  
  
“Someone gonna let us in on the joke or what?” Barry asks when he feels Mike try and kick James under the table.  
  
“Suppose you better tell them,” James grumbles, figures this was bound to come out eventually. So Mike recounts the whole experience of his ‘worst first date ever’, with some embellishments and the occasional interruption from James when Mike strays too far from the truth and tries to make him sound worse than he actually was. James endures an afternoon of teasing about the whole thing, which then extends for another two weeks of jokes being made at his expense. He figures he deserves them, but he doesn't tell Mike this, for fear of encouraging the behaviour.  
  
It’s while they're in the peak of everyone making jokes about James being a player that Mike needs to record the VO for their Royal Wedding video. There’s a silly mood about the studio, which means Janice is extra sassy that day, and Mike can’t help himself. James does look incredibly cute, his usual ocean of calm, being as supportive as he could be while the rest of them were flapping about. There’s their own stupid joke between them with James dusting sugar off him where Mike forgot himself for a moment, and he’s sure the fans are going to comment on the fact James is especially adorable when delivering his lines to camera. It’s unfair, really. Mike figures he owes it to them to stop anyone getting the wrong idea about James.  
  
Of course, he exaggerates the story a little bit. Just for comedic effect. The idea of going to the Wolseley with James just for cocktails is, in itself, pretty ridiculous, but it’s the fanciest place he thinks of off the top of his head. And he makes sure to have a dig at Ben too, just so James doesn’t feel completely singled out. Honestly, Mike is pretty proud of himself at the whole thing.  
  
James insists that he hates Mike when he sees the edit, but everyone else is cracking up at the term ‘Love Rat’, and Mike just looks at him with a smug grin.  
  
“Don’t lie, I know you love me,” he says easily, caught up in the moment. James shakes his head, does his best to school his expression and not be caught smiling at Mike’s antics. His heart is racing at the comment, the words ringing true, but now is not the time to admit to them, the moment too public.  
  
“If that nickname sticks, I’m filing for a divorce,” he deadpans, sending everyone into a renewed fit of giggles. James caves when Mike leans in to place an apologetic kiss to the tip of his nose, scrunching his face up, but a smile breaks through. He takes the joking as evidence for the strength of their relationship and can’t even bring himself to stay mad. James will take Mike joking at his own expense over Mike being upset with him every single time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie! I'm posting this all in one go and am stuck in my own feedback loop, so any thoughts / criticisms would be greatly appreciated! Also I have nothing to plug now that tumblr is dead so like? I don't know, lets just cry about James Currie together in the comments or something?? Please? I'm suffering all on my own.


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